


Strange Days

by Blisterdude



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Sibling Incest, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blisterdude/pseuds/Blisterdude
Summary: For Hansel and Gretel, everything changed after slaying Muriel in Augsburg. Their pasts were revealed in a way neither was prepared for, and their battle with the witches was far more than any simple hunt. With Ben and Edward in tow, the twins try to come to terms with the direction of their lives, and an uncertain future.





	1. Strange Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually pretty old, but I decided to post it because after a long time, I finally got around to starting a follow-up for it.

Gretel slid down the side of the bank, holding her arms out for balance as her boots cut through the wet mud, kicking up flecks of dirty water and sticky lumps of turf, spattering her skin and face, not that she noticed. The heavy rain that had started that morning continued unabated, plastering loose strands of her hair to her face. She was only grateful she’d managed to get most of it into a braid before they’d left Dachau that morning.

 

“Hansel!” She cried out, flinging a hand out and grabbing a tree at the bottom of the slope to steady herself, before forcing herself into a loping run through the mud and unslinging the heavy crossbow from her back.

 

A low, throaty roar erupted some way to her right, followed by a splintering crash and what sounded like a tree falling down. As she turned toward it, the shrieking laugh rang out, only to be drowned out by several gunshots.

 

Gretel pushed through the soaking firs, swatting branches aside as she forged ahead. She shoved aside another, only for a second branch to swing back into her face, half-blinding her with water. She spluttered, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her leather jacket irritably, then glanced upward.

 

Ahead lay a small clearing. Edward loomed over a fallen tree, shaking his fist painfully, covered head to toe in mud and leaves and Hansel struggled to reload his gun, looking equally bruised and bedraggled. The witch struggled to fly above, weighted down by Ben clinging to the end of her broom, still shrieking with laughter.

And today had started off so simply.

 

Gretel yanked a hook from the front of her crossbow, attached to a thin, but very strong metal wire.

 

She lashed it around a tree to her left and tugged it back, then coiled the crossbow around another tree to its right.

 

“Hey, bitch!” She yelled, too tired, sore and uncomfortable to think of anything better.

 

The witch stopped, finally shaking Ben free who fell to the drenched ground in a splash. She regarded her hungrily, raising her wand and laughing again.

 

“Gretel!” Hansel roared, raising his gun and firing at the witch, but it only served to drive the creature toward her.

 

Gretel stepped back from the two trees, as the witch swept forward. She drew a hunting shotgun from her belt, with the barrels sawn down and without bothering to aim, fired.

 

The buckshot hammered into the witch, destroying the front of her broom. She screamed as she lurched forward, eyes widening as she finally noticed the barely visible razor-wire set up between the trees.

 

Gretel closed her eyes as it collided with the wires, followed by a sickening squelch.

 

She cringed as she felt the sticky droplets patter on her face, all too familiar these days with the warm, clinginess of blood coating her face.

 

At least it wasn’t hers.

 

The witch thrashed about in front of her, nearly cut in two by the steel-wire. Gretel jammed another two shells into the sawn-off and aimed it at the twitching, fleshy creature. She heard Hansel approach, followed by the lumbering footsteps of Edward and Ben’s heavy gasping.

 

Without looking up, she fired twice. The witches head disappeared in a fountain of bloody flesh as the buckshot pulverised it’s all too mortal shell.

 

“Nice, sister.” Hansel muttered, mopping his now bloody brow.

 

“Shut up.” She said, wiping her own face pointlessly. It would take considerable effort to get the combination of rain, mud and blood out…again.

 

“Dead?” Edward growled.

 

Hansel turned and clapped the big troll on the shoulder.

 

“Very.” He grinned, shooting Gretel a look.

 

She smirked back, wryly, clipping the old shotgun to her belt again.

 

“We get paid now, right?” Ben asked, brushing his sopping wet hair out of his eyes.

 

“We?” Her brother laughed sharply, seeing the look on Ben’s face. “Sure, sure. Take Edward and fetch the cart, we’ll get…uh… _it_ ready.” He regarded the bloody lumps that remained of the witch.

 

Edward grunted and lumbered off.

 

“Maybe a sack or something would be a good-”

 

“Good idea kid.” Hansel shoved him off after Edward.

 

“Oh,” Ben managed, despite Hansel’s insistent pushing. “Nice work, Gretel!” He smiled cheerfully.

 

“Thanks.” She managed a brief smile as he jogged off after the troll.

 

Hansel thrust a hand into the folds of his leather duster and pulled out a pipe. She watched, amused, as with considerable effort he managed to strike a match and light it.

 

“So, you got this whole execution thing going now or something?” His eyes lingered on the shotgun.

 

She looked down at the corpse, then back at her brother.

 

“It was Jackson’s.” She said, simply.

 

“I know.”

 

“Muriel murdered him, he was just trying to help us.”

 

Hansel lowered the pipe, strolling around the body over to her. He laid a hand on her arm, looking her in the eyes.

 

“I liked the old guy, too, but our lives are dangerous enough without making it riskier with…with…poetic justice.” He frowned slightly.

 

Gretel scoffed.

 

“I wasn’t in any fucking danger.” She saw the look on his face. “Any _more_ danger than usual, anyway. And besides, like you’re one to give me that talk? Remember how you wound up lost out in the forests around Augsberg to begin with?” She crossed her arms.

 

“I…” Hansel’s eyes wandered upward, as he took another draw on the pipe. “…I might have hitched a ride on a broomstick with one of Muriel’s sisters.”

 

He met his sister’s gaze, taking in her unimpressed expression and her raised eyebrow.

 

“It…might have been poor judgement.” He conceded.

 

“Maybe.”

 

They fell silent for a moment, taking in the battered, beaten and bloody state of one another, before breaking out in a laugh and smiling stupidly.

 

“You’d think we’d be better at this by now.” Gretel chuckled, tugging damp, loose strands of hair from her eyes.

 

“Still alive.” Her brother shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Long as it stays that way, it’s worth a few bumps.”

 

“Yeah, a few bumps.” She laughed slightly, unconsciously running a hand over some of the older scars and scabs from past injuries on her cheek. It was only a few weeks since they’d left Augsburg, and the wounds from when Sheriff Berringer and his men had-

 

Hansel’s brow furrowed at the motion and she saw him wince slightly and look away. She lowered her hand quickly, inwardly cursing. Her brother still hadn’t forgiven himself, it seemed, for not being there when it…when they nearly…

 

“Brother-” She began, interrupted by a shout from behind them.

 

Ben jogged through the trees, carrying a thick, olive canvas.

 

“Edward’s back there with the cart and our gear, by the road.” He gasped, catching his breath, then took in the strained silence between the twins. “Everything okay?”

 

“Great.” Hansel replied, quickly. “C’mere.” He gestured Ben over and they began to wrap the bloody corpse in the canvas. With a grunt, the two of them lifted the mass and began heading back towards the slope that led up to the road.

 

Ben might not have noticed anything beyond Hansel’s usual snappy demeanour, but Gretel could see he was rattled. She retrieved her crossbow and followed the two, staring at the back of Hansel’s head in guilt.

 

He could be such a closed book, sometimes. Not that they weren’t close, because they were, always had been. Life had forced them to be so, circumstance had brought them to where they were, side by side as always. They were a team, companions, family. More than family. She knew him better than anybody, and the same went for him, she was sure.

 

But still, her brother had always been…reserved.

 

Before Augsburg, he had refused to discuss their past or their parents. Now having discovered much of the truth of their childhood, their mother a good witch, their resistance to magic, even Gretel’s fledgling…potential.

 

Gretel herself was still uncomfortable with the final revelation.

 

Hansel though, reticent before, was now even more so. He blamed himself for what nearly happened to her with the Sheriff, and he likely held himself responsible for Mina’s death. Gretel wanted to talk to him about all these things, knowing he was as troubled as she, but he seemed dead set against it. And with Ben and Edward along now, there were few opportunities to broach the topics in private.

 

On top of that, he seemed to be pushing them harder than usual. This was their third witch-kill in the few weeks since defeating Muriel and her coven, along with all the others they slew at the Bloodmoon.

 

He was driving himself, and she was driving herself for fear of what would happen when he finally fell. She hoped it wouldn’t end as badly as she feared, in those quiet moments at night, when the others slept.

 

As she scrambled up the muddy, slippery rise, she saw Edward lifting the cart as Hansel finished stowing the corpse. Ben was already walking ahead, trying to check the map while keeping it out of the rain, under his coat.

 

She chucked her crossbow onto the back of the cart, noting that her brother actually flinched as it suddenly flew past him.

 

“Hansel.” She said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Edward.” He ordered.

 

The troll grunted and began following Ben. Hansel stepped forward, but she tightened her hold.

 

“Hey.” She hissed.

 

“What?” He turned back, eyes meeting hers.

 

She wondered whether to tell him it wasn’t his fault again, or whether to ask whether he wanted to talk, or whether simply to ask if anything was wrong, but something told her he’d simply clam up again and move on.

 

“We should take a break.” She tried to smile reassuringly, settling on a different tack. “We haven’t stopped since we beat Muriel and…” She glanced ahead toward Edward and Ben. “…we’re only human. Well, most of us.”

 

He looked like he was going to object, but he must have seen something in her look as his own grim expression faltered and softened, slightly.

 

“Witches don’t stop.” He argued, though it seemed more of a forced objection than an actual argument.

 

“Neither will we.” She let her hand run down his shoulder to his hand, silently thrilled as he took her hand in his and squeezed. His rough-skinned fingers rubbed soothingly over her own coarse, scratched hand. “But a day or two, just to…to think about things.”

 

Hansel nodded slightly, picking up the implication. It was true he had been pushing them, it was true he had been trying to put off addressing everything that they’d learned, that had happened since Augsburg. It was true that he’d been afraid to talk to Gretel about these things, even though on some level, he wanted to. There was nobody else to talk to. There was nobody else he would ever consider talking to.

 

It was true he had been less than…less than he should have been, as her brother, in the past weeks.

 

“A few days couldn’t hurt.” He glanced upward, embarrassed by the small joy in her eyes, the slight smile, as her lips curled upward. He cleared his throat and turned to follow the receding cart, only to find Gretel still holding his hand, remaining beside him.

 

He paused briefly again, before making an awkward growling sound at the back of his throat. Gretel smiled and, still holding his hand, they began the journey back to town.


	2. Wash Away Our Sins

Dachau was just another cold, wet, muddy sprawl of grey stone and dark wooden buildings, angular and pointed old houses and thick stone walls. Unlike many of the places they had wound up in the years they’d spent hunting witches, however, the population of this particular muddy sprawl was merely passively antagonistic as opposed to outwardly hostile to their presence.

 

Gretel wondered whether Edward had anything to do with the space they were given, these days, too.

 

Gretel followed Hansel out of the mayor’s office, a sizeable purse of silver richer than they had been that morning. She caught the bag as her brother tossed it over, carelessly. Despite constantly ribbing Ben about his cut, at the end of a hunt, Hansel cared little about the financial details, generally leaving it all to her. As long as he knew he had enough to keep them armed, supplied and fed, maybe with a little to tinker with their arsenal here and there, he was relatively content.

 

Sometimes she wondered if he even realised how much they had saved up over the years. Considering how easily he spent money on playing with their weaponry, she thought it was probably a good thing one of them had an idea of how to manage a budget.

 

Edward and Ben were stood by their cart, near a stable by the entrance to town. Edward laughed throatily at something Ben was saying, the young man gesturing energetically and grinning. Having the two of them along meant more mouths to feed, but all told she enjoyed their company. Edward was handy in a fight and even Ben was learning, if slowly. Despite her brother’s attitude, which could equally rival her own icy demeanour at times, she knew even he didn’t mind having them along.

 

She was assured of this because Hansel hadn’t insisted they leave Ben behind after their first hunt after leaving Augsburg, when the youth had been picked up by the airborne bitch and hurled at her brother, sending them both tumbling off the side of an incline and into a murky bog below.

 

“Find us somewhere to eat and sleep?” Hansel dropped onto the back of the cart, laying back idly. “Somewhere with a minimum of fleas, rodents and decaying furniture?”

 

“Well…” Ben began, wincing slightly.

 

“Fuck that, did they have a bath?” Gretel unslung her crossbow and tossed it onto the cart. It landed on Hansel, who grunted as he caught it.

 

“Yes.” Ben nodded. “They did.”

 

“Bath?” Edward rumbled, inquisitively.

 

“Then that’s our bet.” She smirked, climbing up onto the side of the cart. “Lead on, kid.”

 

Ben smiled, nodding again and headed on. Edward lifted the cart and started to pull, without a word.

 

Sometimes, she felt like they were exploiting the troll, but she wasn’t sure how to explain to a creature who’d been grown, bred and conditioned to…obey witches. Which now it turns out meant…her…sort of. Since their mother was…well.

 

Gretel yelped briefly when a hand shot up out of the cart and grabbed her shoulder. It pulled her down into the back awkwardly, her legs still dangling over the side, into the pile of arms, armaments and supplies.

 

She turned her head to find Hansel looking at her with his habitual set frown.

 

“What?” She asked, irritably.

 

Hansel didn’t reply, his rough fingers brushing across her forehead, pulling hair out of her face and pushing it behind her ear.

 

His expression faltered briefly, softened. His eyes fixed on hers and his mouth opened slightly as though he wanted to say something.

 

He looked past her for a moment, seeing the back of Edward and Ben’s heads as they rattled down the street, then back at her, meaningfully. His brow raised and he shrugged.

 

She was confused at first, but as his hand started to caress her face, through the worn leather of his glove, something clicked in the back of her head.

 

Oh. Well. It had…been a while. Quite a long while since they’d last been…what was the word…close? Intimate? Since before Augsburg, must have been. Back when she’d started having the dreams again, about their parents, their father leaving them out in the forest…

 

She caught his hand, as his coarse touch probed around her beaten and bruised face, holding it to her cheek.

 

“’m sorry, Gretel.” He murmured.

 

He wasn’t all to blame. She knew that. But she’d tried to reach out for months and that wasn’t something she was really accustomed to, or comfortable with. She’d tried and Hansel had refused, over and over. He’d let the gap between them get bigger and he’d actually seemed to fortify it, at times.

 

“Yeah.” She let go of his hand and lay back, closing her eyes.

 

Gretel could be petty too.

 

…

 

Later that afternoon, they secured rooms at one of the larger taverns in Dachau. Dimly, Hansel conceded it was better than some they’d been stuck in. Ben had his own room, he’d persuaded the owner to let Edward shack up in the stable, and that he _wouldn’t_ eat the horses, and then taken another room for themselves.

 

Ben had never commented on the fact they always shared a room. Because, well, it must have seemed at least a bit odd, right? Hansel couldn’t decide whether the kid was just clueless, naïve, or tactful.

 

Not that they’d actually been any more than the brother and sister they seemed, for a while. Mostly his doing.

 

Those fucking dreams had spooked him, when they’d started up again. It had been years since the last time, they’d still practically been kids. But right before they arrived in Augsburg, following the stories about all the children missing, they’d started up again.

 

He’d never told Gretel. Not even when she told him she’d had them, in their room in the tavern, the first night in Augsburg. He’d just shut her out, ignored it and pushed on.

 

 _We don’t talk about that,_ he’d said.

 

He and Gretel had never really been much for expressing their feelings and worries and concerns…vocally at least. They’d found other ways. Maybe, in this case though…maybe he should have?

 

Hansel took another swig from the tankard. Foul smelling stuff. Warmed him up, though.

 

Ben was sat across the table from him, poring over several sheets of paper and talking away, half to himself, half to Hansel. Stories and rumours about witch-sightings. Always seemed to be more.

 

Hansel’s tired and aching bones protested at the thought of chasing another witch down already. Maybe they did need a break.

 

Gretel was upstairs in their room. Having a bath.

 

His mind lingered on that for a moment.

 

In retrospect, he had earned the somewhat cold shoulder she’d been giving him recently. Well, a lot, really. While Berringer and his men had been attacking her, he’d…he’d been with _Mina._

 

Not that it was Mina’s fault either. Another victim. Another weight on his already twisted conscience.

 

A good witch.

 

Hansel had never thought there could be such a thing, after all he and Gretel had seen, over the years. All they’d fought and killed. But there it was.

 

He had to believe it now. Now he knew about their mother. And Mina.

 

If he didn’t, what did that make Gretel?

 

They both had the blood of a witch, but Gretel…Gretel apparently had the capacity to…learn. To be one.

 

He spun the tankard idly in his hand, staring into the sloshing depths.

 

Hansel knew he’d die before he let anything happen to her again. He’d die before he let anyone try to take her away. She was no monster. She was not evil.

 

Dimly, he wondered if that was how their father had felt about their mother…or them.

 

Years of anger, blame, hatred…it all seemed so wasted now. So unfair.

 

Hacking that bitch Muriel’s head off had done some to make him feel better, though. Gretel hadn’t really talked about it since. Or…maybe she’d tried and he’d ignored her, again. The last month or so since Augsburg were a bit of a blur. An unending stream of slain witches, injuries, bloodshed and treks through dark woodland and rugged terrain.

 

The barmaid strolled past again, throwing him a smile. He suspected he was probably in with a shot, there.

 

Gretel had never forbidden him other…distractions, over the years. And he’d definitely not denied himself.  But he’d never seen Gretel with anybody else. Made him feel guilty. A lot of things made him feel guilty.

 

He knocked back the last of the foul-tasting swill and let the tankard clatter onto the table.

 

“I’m off.” Hansel burped, pounding his chest. “Get some rest, kid.” He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and threw it over his shoulder, and plucked a bread roll from the platter on the table.

 

“Sure…uh, hey, was Gretel okay earlier?” Ben asked, worriedly.

 

Hansel fought the urge to scoff. Ben had a good heart, that was all. Gretel said so, so it must have been true.

 

“She gets tired too.” Hansel shrugged. “We ain’t all the stories say we are. Sleep tight.” He smirked, snapped off a bit of bread and threw it at Ben’s head then went upstairs.

 

…

 

When Hansel opened the door Gretel was still in the tub, clearly enjoying herself, with her back to him in the middle of the room.

 

“Top us up, brother?” She called, without turning around.

 

“Sure.” He tossed his coat onto a hook next to Gretel’s and strolled over to the fire, where several pots of water were boiling away.

 

He grabbed one and carried it toward the large metal tub. Gretel was watching him lazily, arms resting on the sides and head leaned back.

 

“Edward happy?” She asked, as he poured the water into the tub.

 

“Yeah. Left him with a leg of mutton and a mound of hay. Seemed…whatever the troll equivalent of being happy is I guess.”

 

Gretel let out a contented sigh as the water warmed around her, and she let her arms drop inside the tub. He couldn’t make her out through the dark surface of the water, only seeing the pale skin of her neck and shoulders above it. Maybe that was for the best.

 

“Ben?” She asked again.

 

“The kid is…well, he’s nuts, Gretel.”

 

Gretel gave him a sharp look, as he knelt down beside the tub, pouring the last of the water in.

 

“…but…he’ll…learn?” Hansel fumbled, hopefully.

 

Gretel sat back again, eyes staring into the dark water.

 

“We did.” She said, quietly.

 

Hansel rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttoned his vest, throwing it onto the bed across the room. Gretel’s eyes moved back to him, slightly guarded. He crossed his arms, leaning on the side and took in the state of her, now there was time.

 

Her cuts were starting to heal, those he could see, and her skin has a healthier flush in the heat of the water, more colour than usual. Bruises were setting in though, and there was still blood on her that she hadn’t quite washed off.

 

“Why are we staring?” Gretel asked, staring right back at him.

 

“You’re filthy.” Hansel smirked, breaking off some bread and popping it into his mouth.

 

“Blood…lingers.” Gretel winced. He saw her eyes go to the bread.

 

“Don’t we know it.” He replied, wondering whether she was partly talking about something else. About them. Their blood. The years of blood on their hands.

 

The look she gave him told him she was.

 

He broke off another bit and held it up. Gretel grinned and opened her mouth. He flicked it and she caught it, chewing it slowly. He did it again, flicking another piece at her which she caught in her mouth, stretching her neck to reach it slightly.

 

“Feel like a fuckin’ duck.” She grumbled, chewing.

 

“Swan, maybe.” He muttered, his eyes lingering on the largely unscarred, smooth skin of her neck, curving downward to her submerged chest.

 

Gretel snorted, then laughed.

 

“That ever work, brother?” She smirked. “How the hell do you manage to get laid at all?”

 

“Think they feel sorry for me.” Hansel grinned back.

 

“I feel sorry for you, Hans.” Gretel replied.

 

“Good.” Hansel set aside the bread and picked up a cloth by the side of the tub. “Want any help?”

 

“Washing?” Gretel asked, raising one brow. “Fuck, I thought you’d never get around to asking.”

 

“Yeah, I’m bad at this.” He nodded, moving behind his sister.

 

She leaned forward, lifting her arms and beginning to untie her hair from its long braid. Hansel helped. It was…an intimate thing, for Gretel. Private. She mostly always did it herself. That she was prompting him to take part meant that…maybe…he was fixing things?  A little at least?

 

“You’re going to make me ask the other thing aren’t you?” Hansel said, rubbing the damp cloth down the back of her neck.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Never did before.” He ventured.

 

Their relationship, their…bond…whatever it was, had survived for years mostly being intuitive. It thrived on saying “I love you” as little as possible, because they already knew that. As brother and sister and more or less or whatever else they were to each other. Trust, respect, they could only really count on each other, after all.

 

The first time they’d had sex they’d just turned sixteen. It had been awkward, clumsy, slightly scary, and neither of them really knew what they were doing.

 

The first time they’d realised they were looking at each other, thinking about each other like brothers and sisters didn’t normally was some years earlier. Went back a bit. Maybe all the way back to that night, with the witch. Their first kill.

 

Left alone. Nobody but each other to rely on.

 

Some things never really changed.

 

“I said I was sorry about…this.” Hansel gestured, helplessly. He didn’t have a fucking clue how to talk about this.

 

Gretel half-turned, her dark eyes meeting his as she ran her hands through her hair, slowly washing it.

 

“It worked for years, somehow. But you wanted to stop. And you wouldn’t even tell me why.” There was a hard edge to her voice. Barely there, but noticeable.

 

He really didn’t want to fuck this up.

 

Hansel sighed, taking the end of her hair in his hands and carefully washing it.

 

“I started having the dreams too. Week or so before we got to Augsburg.”

 

Gretel stiffened slightly, but didn’t reply.

 

“Freaked me out. Saw how they got to you, and just figured it’d be better if we just…focused on other things for a while.” He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Seems pretty fuckin’ stupid now.”

 

“Yeah.” Gretel nodded, still facing away from him.

 

Hansel soaked the cloth and started running it down the back of her hair again. She was going to make this as uncomfortable as possible.

 

“Am I,” He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “, sleeping on the floor tonight?”

 

It was a given that Gretel had the bed. Gretel always had the bed.

 

Gretel pulled away, turning around in the tub and gripping the sides with her hands. She tilted her head slightly, damp strands of hair plastered across her face as she chewed her lip, thinking.

 

“Close as I’m gonna get, isn’t it?” She said, staring at him.

 

“I did say sorry, too.” Hansel replied, letting his arms slide into the tub. His fingers brushed against her legs in the water.

 

“You did.”

 

He was surprised when Gretel slid forward to the edge of the tub, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pressing her lips hard against his.

 

Tasted like blood, dirt and sweat. Something indisputably Gretel.

 

“Floor looks cold.” She murmured, pulling back slightly. “Wouldn’t want you to get ill.”

 

“Agreed.” Hansel managed, breathing out. “So you want out now or…” Hansel gestured toward a blanket over a chair by the fire.

 

“I could still use some help though.” Gretel frowned slightly.

 

“With what?” He replied, turning back.

 

“This.” Gretel replied, tightening her hold on his shirt and suddenly pulling back to the other side of the tub, taking him with her.

 

He had a second to take a breath before he was hauled over the side face first into the tub. Hansel floundered for purchase, gripping the sides and struggling above the surface, coughing and spluttering.

 

“Fucking hell, Gretel.” He rasped, rubbing water out of his eyes as his sister came into focus in front of him.

 

She was smiling.

 

“If you thought you were getting in that bed in your state, think again.” Gretel smirked, pushing a hand through his sopping wet hair. “Your turn.” She started unbuttoning his soaking shirt.

 

Hansel considered arguing, as he allowed her to remove his drenched shirt. Then she leaned forward, onto her knees, and rose partway out of the tub. His eyes followed the sliding droplets of water down from her neck, toward her breasts.

 

Gretel followed his eyes and paused, looking down at him. She sighed.

 

“You’re hopeless.” She scoffed, grabbing his hands and placing them on her chest.

 

“Pretty much.” He ran one of his hands down the scarred, bumpy skin of her side.

 

Gretel seemed satisfied, and kissed him again.

 

“I don’t suppose-” He started, as she pulled back again.

 

“Later.” Gretel smirked, then poured a pot of water over his head.


	3. Night Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot...what little there is of it...thickens! Along with more added violence, and a dose of sex.

_Gretel cried out as he hit her again. She couldn’t fall though, the men holding her wouldn’t let her. They only pulled her upright again, ignoring the fact she could barely stand, as he hit her again._

_She spat out a sticky glob of blood. God, felt like her mouth was swimming in it. She tried to swallow, but the sickly mess stuck in her throat._

_Berringer circled her, leering, gloating. He leaned close, his face twisted and angry and covered in blood from where she’d tried to bite his broken nose right off. She glared back, and for her trouble, he clouted her across the face again with the back of his hand._

_One of the men holding her took the trouble to elbow her in the side and she felt the breath rush out of her. She retched a mouthful of blood up, struggling for air._

_Gretel looked up, with difficulty, hanging limp in the men’s arms. Berringer laughed. His men sneered._

_Gretel was afraid._

_The sherriff’s hand was suddenly clamped around her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. Crushing her. She fought for breath, rasped, snarled, struggled. Her coat was torn off and arms pulled at her outer-corset._

_It seemed as if he was on top of her now. His men were gone, or elsewhere, laughing. Berringer struggled with the belt of his trousers and pinned her down, while still crushing her neck in his hands._

_She couldn’t breathe. But her right arm was free, now._

_“Hansel.” She gasped. “Han-”_

“-sel!” Gretel drove her fist into her attacker’s stomach, then elbowed them in the side of the head, sending them tumbling off of her and over the side of the bed onto the floor.

 

“…rrrnngggh…Gretel…what the fuck…” Hansel groaned, from the floor.

 

Gretel stared around in the dark, wide-eyed and a little frantic as the last wisps of the dream…nightmare faded. She could feel it again. Something…in here with them. Some lingering feeling, like being watched. The hand at her throat released its grip…her own hand.

 

She sat up quickly, swinging her legs over the side and panting heavily. Her hand kept instinctively going to feel her throat but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it after what she’d done in her sleep. Hansel rolled over on the floor, into her feet and she struggled not to flinch.

 

Gretel frowned. Shit like this didn’t normally get to her, and she didn’t like to admit it, but that dream had rattled her.

 

She slid down onto the floor, helping Hansel up as he sat back against the bed beside her.

 

“If I’d known you were gonna do that I might’ve kept the floor.” He grumbled. “You never used to have nightmares, did you?”

 

“Only the ones about our parents.” She replied, staring blankly into the dark. “But they weren’t like this.”

 

Something was wrong. The feeling wasn’t going away this time. They weren’t alone.

 

It had been about a week since they’d arrived in Dachau. And despite some rumblings from Hansel, they’d managed to take a break, enjoying the opportunity to relax and recuperate. Eat and drink. Not worry about anything.

 

Then a few nights ago, Gretel had had the nightmare. Woke up violently, gasping and struggling, Hansel fighting to calm her.

 

Then the next night too. And the next. And tonight. It had been so sudden. Out of nowhere.

 

“Gretel.” Hansel murmured, pulling her out of her thoughts.

 

Hansel’s hand was on her bare thigh, slowly moving upward, between her legs. He’d leaned over and kissed her neck, his breath warming her, the stubble of his shaven face scratching her skin, not unpleasantly.

 

He was trying to cheer her up, and she appreciated it, if nothing else. It was tempting to relax and go along with it, but…something was wrong. It was distracting her.

 

“Wait.” She replied, quietly. Hansel stopped.

 

Gretel slowly brought her breathing under control. Hansel leaned against her, fumbling for one of her hands. She took it gratefully.

 

Something about this felt all wrong. It was all too sudden. Too…real. And she could still feel it, whatever it was, out there in the dark of their room, with them.

 

And the window was open.

 

“You okay?” Hansel asked, trying to catch her eye.

 

“Fine.” She replied, curtly. “Listen.”

 

She held her breath and brought up her other hand flat, indicating for him to do the same.

 

The room was silent. Still. Dark. But too much. It was the kind of silence, stillness, you got when someone, like they were, was _trying_ to be quiet, and still.

 

“ _Fuck_.” Gretel heard her brother hiss through his teeth.

 

“Trousers.” Gretel muttered.

 

Hansel passed them over and she started pulling on the leather breeches, slowly.

 

“Shirt.” Hansel murmured back.

 

She reached behind her and passed his shirt over. He pulled it on while she finished buckling her belt.

 

“Shotgun?” Gretel whispered, slowly edging herself up to her feet, pushing against the bed.

 

“By the door.” Hansel replied, buttoning his shirt. “Rifle?” He asked, getting up carefully beside her.

 

“Window.” She replied, tersely.

 

They shared a brief, plain look, and reached for Gretel’s boots, left by the foot of the bed. Each pulled a long knife from a holster in the inner-lining.

 

The witch, whatever or whoever it was, hadn’t reacted yet. Gretel hoped that considering they were in the dark, the bitch wasn’t relying on sight. Maybe sound.

 

They could work with that.

 

“Gretel.” Hansel hissed.

 

“Give me the other knife.” She whispered back, through her teeth. “Get your rifle.”

 

“Gretel-”

 

Gretel rolled her eyes and grabbed a handful of Hansel’s shirt, kissing him hard. She used his surprise to take his knife and pulled away, facing across the room.

 

She didn’t know where the witch was, but hurled the knife toward the small dead fire.

 

Something shrieked, and the room was briefly illuminated by light when the blast from a wand shimmered and sparked, fizzling toward them. Gretel  had a second or so to see the intruder. A twisted, hunched over old creature, wrapped in rags and furs with no eyes and an alarming number of teeth.

 

This witch had either forgotten that magic couldn’t harm them or panicked, either way, it had given them some time.

 

“Go!” Gretel yelled, running toward the door. Behind her, she heard Hansel move to the window.

 

The witch snarled, going after her brother. Gretel swore under her breath and threw the second knife. The witch cried out, her throw having at least hit something, and another wave of shimmering light flew toward her, passing her harmlessly and turning the wall behind her into stone.

 

It creaked and cracked and the petrified segment caved outward, leaving a large hole.

 

Gretel made it to her gear, grabbing her leg harness and drawing Jackson’s shotgun as the witch bore down on her. She could hear the air rushing and the creature hissing angrily.

 

She spun around, silently glad she and her brother made a point of keeping their weapons loaded at all time, raising the shotgun and gave it both barrels. The room was illuminated again in the flashes, and the stench of gunpowder filled her senses.

 

The witch disappeared in the explosion of the first shot, violently cartwheeling backwards into the far wall. The second shot knocked the witch back again, screaming and gurgling blood and stunning her as she scrabbled to get away.

 

Gretel took her time reloading, pushing two more shells into the breech, because she’d already seen Hansel with had found his rifle.

 

“Get you for thissss!” The witch screamed, crawling hurriedly toward the open window, where her brother was waiting, quietly.

 

“Good luck with that.” Gretel smirked, walking toward her. She picked up a lamp from the table on the way, lighting it.

 

The room was washed in a dull, orange glow. Hansel had his rifle aimed directly at the witches head and it didn’t look like she could even tell, as she struggled up, trying to back out of the window.

 

The witch was blind. A stained, torn old rag pulled across where her eyes would be. Skin cracked and discoloured. Long, pointed teeth and unnaturally long fingers, with claws, more than nails.

 

Dreamseers. Not many of them still around. And they freaked Gretel the fuck out every time.

 

“One chance.” Gretel snarled. “What did you want?”

 

The witch hissed through her teeth, snapping forward, clawed hands outstretched. Beside her, unflinching, Hansel fired twice. The witches head disappeared in an explosion of flesh, sticky blood and fragments of skull.

 

Unfortunately, before the witches headless corpse hit the floor, much of it plastered itself over Gretel.

 

“Thanks, brother.” Gretel raised an arm, mopping her face with her sleeve.

 

“Sorry.” Hansel let his rifle rest over his shoulder, grinning apologetically.

 

The door to their room burst open and Ben, followed by the owner, a barmaid, and several other guests and patrons crowded in, curiously, if a little hesitant.

 

“What…what happened?” Ben stared from them, to the still-twitching, leaking corpse slumped beneath the window.

 

“What is that?!” The innkeeper demanded, pointing to the dead…thing.

 

Gretel turned back to the corpse, when she noticed something. A shadow, cast by the moon outside over the body. She stared sharply outside.

 

“It’s-” Hansel began, when she grabbed his shoulder.

 

On the roof across the street, was a figure. Outlined against the clear sky. Too dark to see any details but. It was moving, she thought, its arm was-

 

“Get down!” Gretel threw herself at her brother, as the entire window, and the wall along with it, caved inward in a sea of splinters, shards and debris.

 

“Witches!” Someone cried among the guests. “Witches!”

 

More were yelling.

 

Gretel rubbed her ears, which were ringing. Hansel was on his back, beneath her, looking torn between amusement and irritation.

 

“Always gotta land on me?” He grumbled. Gretel felt one of his hands slyly making its way up her hip toward her ass.

 

“Hardly the time.” She muttered rolling off of him quickly.

 

“Suppose so.” He threw her a stupid grin as Ben rushed forward, helping them up.

 

“Are you alright? You look-” Ben asked, worriedly, holding her arm.

 

“Great.” She replied, waving a hand dismissively.

 

The second figure was long gone, when Gretel looked out the new hole in the wall where the window had once been. The cold night air blasted through like a gale, but for a moment she swore she could hear something like laughter, carried on the wind.

 

“She’s just annoyed because she wasted a bath.” Hansel shouldered Ben, smirking.

 

“Shut up.” Gretel scowled, trying to wipe more drying blood from her face.

 

The innkeeper and the others bustled in behind them, staring at the wreckage in a mixture of fear and awe. She figured they had seconds before questions started getting asked. Like what the fuck brought witches all the way into town? Why did they happen to attack the only two witch-hunters around? Say, there weren’t any witches before you turned up, is this your fault?

 

They’d seen it all before.

 

Something brought the witches here. And for once, Gretel had a suspicion it _might_ have been them. She’d had the nightmares for a few nights, which meant the Dreamseer had been using her nightmares to look for something in her head all that time. Could have killed them, and didn’t.

 

What were they after? Didn’t know. Had they found it already? Probably not, since they interrupted the witch tonight, in pretty severe terms. They needed time to work this out. And they had at least one lead, she glared out across the rooftops again.

 

In the street below Gretel heard slow, lumbering footsteps. Edward was up and about. She heard him sniff the air, patiently, then turn to look up at the hole in the building, where she was standing.

 

“Witches.” Edward grumbled, uneasily.

 

“Thanks, Edward.” Gretel managed a smile. “Wait there, we’ll be down in a bit.”

 

The crowd was already muttering. Some looked worried, some suspicious. Some angry.

 

“Hansel.” Gretel shot her brother a look. He nodded, understanding, and turned toward the crowd.

 

“People,” Hansel held up a hand, speaking in his best ‘authority’ voice. “, it would appear you have a witch problem.”

 

It was a half-truth, at least.


End file.
